


Rights of Spring

by ACatWhoWrites



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Captivity, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Mythology References, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 07:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19246810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACatWhoWrites/pseuds/ACatWhoWrites
Summary: Hell isn't such an unpleasant place. Sehun looks forward to returning to it every year.





	Rights of Spring

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt Petal:** 82  
>  **Author's Note:** I took some influence from the various mythologies surrounding Hades and Persephone, although neither have much of a story outside one another aside from a lot of sex stealing. (Those Greeks, man. Woof.) A big immediate diversion is while Hades and Persephone were uncle/niece the relationship between Jongdae and Sehun is through marriage, only.
> 
> The timing and pacing turned out stranger than I intended, but I think the overall feeling is still there.
> 
> The title is a bit of a play on Stravinsky's ballet, The Rite of Spring.
> 
> The Korean magpie is like a national symbol, and birds in flight sometimes symbolize the journey of the spirit.

A month after the solstice, Sehun is born to an immortal mother and a mortal father. The world of mortals is not place for a demigod as sensitive and beautiful as Sehun, so his mother raises him without her lover.

She never sees him again.

“What other man could I possibly need?” she’d reply to his questions, and add another flower to the chain braided on her lap, “when I have you?” She settles the crown on his soft black hair. Even plucked from their roots, the flower blossoms open wider, sitting like stars in the dark night sky.

Sehun shyly accepted her embrace and kissed her cheek, blossoms tinting a blush pink.

They were happy.

Sehun didn’t have a single unpleasant day in his life. Suns and moons passed seamlessly; he made friends—sometimes a bit unwillingly—and his mother proudly watched him grow from a quiet child to a confident young man.

His hands grow rough, handling dirt and thorns as he urges roots to reach deeper, flowers to bloom longer, and fruits to grow sweeter. Animals of all sizes—winged, furred, fanged, and clawed—seek out his gentle company. A touch of his hand could heal nearly any wound, if only for one last joyful flight or run, after which they return to his arms and pass into a blissful sleep.

He used to wonder where they went, after their sleep. After their bodies disappeared.

His mother says the King of the Dead, master of the Underworld, collects their souls. He is so rarely seen that he’s considered myth or rumor by some. A shadowy boogeyman to keep children from misbehaving.

He sounds impossibly lonely to Sehun. 

“Who is the King of the Dead?”

No one uses the King’s name, referring to him as King or Lord of the Dead, the Unseen, the Rich One, Killer, the Receiver of Many, the Illustrious, and, very rarely, the Giver of Good Counsel, but everyone knows whom they mean.

She describes him cooly. “A cold, cruel man completely unlike his brothers, who reign over the skies and seas. His word, like his rule over the Underworld, is absolute. People may go to beg for their loved ones’ lives, but no one has achieved pardon or pity.”

When Sehun finds a dying rabbit, sides torn open and legs twisted by precise claws, he says a prayer for its swift descent to the land of the dead and watches its eyes turn glassy. Rather than leave it for a wandering fox or bird, he covers it with dirt and draws grassroots into the mound.

Little white flowers sprout and bloom. New life in place of the old.

 

 

Days and nights are mild, cooler with the rain and hotter under a cloudless sky, but there are no extremes. Farmers work their fields and gardens daily—dividing crops for their family, the market, and the gods.

Knowing who his mother is, mortals and immortals alike treat Sehun like a prince and give him gifts, asking for favors from his mother through him. He doesn’t understand but thanks them anyway.

He usually plays in the mortal realm with the fauns, chasing the mischievous nymphs and dryads that dive into their lakes or rivers, knowing that fauns can’t follow and will sink. They teach Sehun to swim and think it’s funny to push his head underwater with their bodies and bubble over to escape his capture, giggles spilling like waterfalls.

Among all their splashing and laughter, they notice little else. The breeze carries scents of flowers and grass. Sunshine dries Sehun’s skin and the fauns’ fur when they sprawl out on the banks, breathless.

A shadowed being watches with their heart in their throat, beating with admiration and desire.

 

 

As a child, Sehun dreams of laughter, animals, and his friends. His dreams are like his wakeful hours, and he’s never sad or lonely.

On the cusp of adulthood, Sehun has nightmares. They terrify him and make him anxious to sleep.

Most often, it’s the same: While at the beach of a pretty lake, playing among the gentle waves and green reeds, he becomes aware of the field of flowers behind him. It stretches as far as he can see, receding to blurs of colors at the horizon.

From among all of these millions, a single yellow flower seems to stand alone. His friends beg him not to go, and his heart is with them, but his legs carry him farther and farther away, where they can’t follow until he looks over his shoulder and sees the water is just a puddle.

The flower is radiant, sunny gold, and fragrant. He remembers the smell even when awake. It’d be such a lovely gift for his mother, but the more he tries to pluck it, the greater the roots hold, until he’s pulling up flower, roots, and earth.

The resulting hole crumbles into itself, growing wider and swallowing the surrounding flowers. Sehun tries to run away but falls, catching himself on exposed roots that can only postpone his inevitable fall.

Rhythmic thunder pounds his temples, and he falls silently, collapsing into the waiting arms of Death himself.

He wakes suddenly, sweat-soaked and panicked. His mother tries to soothe him with cool hands over his brow and cheek. “It’s just a dream, my love. Nothing will harm you, now.”

Dreams can be premonitions, messages from the gods.

 

 

Sehun thrives in the sunlight. Most like the plants and flowers, he grows and becomes more radiant with each day under the star’s rays.

He doesn’t entertain the idea of ever living underground. When the earth shakes and opens beneath his feet and swallows him whole, he looks up and watches the sun and sky shrink to mere pinpricks and disappear entirely. 

Foreign sounds knock on his consciousness, bringing him to his slow descent. He’s on a chariot, held steady by an arm around his waist. It loosens when Sehun pulls back, and the man takes hold of the reins with his freed hand.

Sehun is taller physically but intimidated by the other’s aura. A black crown of rock or bone sits on black inky hair. The robes match with their absolute lack of color and hang open at front, exposing sharp collarbones and a smooth chest.

No one ever told him what the Underworld’s ruler looks like, but Sehun knows his captor could only be he.

“What’s your name?”

“I have many.” He doesn’t look at Sehun, although he holds his arm out to catch him when they ride over a distinct bump. “You may call me Jongdae.”

Fire is the only light in the Underworld. Ethereal flames burning blue and white but don’t give off heat when they ride by. They also show nothing in the king’s eyes. No light. No color.

The chariot slows to a stop, and a larger demon holds the cadaverous horse while the king offers a hand to Sehun. Small creatures hop and scurry from the stomping hooves and rolling wheels, watching with sharp eyes.

“Welcome, Sehun. A room has been prepared for you.”

“Why?”

“Because sleeping on anything but luxury doesn’t suit you.”

Sehun ignores his extended hand but follows him through halls to an ornate set of stone doors. They open inwards, and Sehun closes them in the king’s passive face.

It’s cavernous and cold, like everything else.

The bed is impossibly soft, however, like a good dream, and Sehun sinks into it as he feels himself begin to wilt.

 

 

The first year is miserable. Sehun refuses to speak, sleep, or eat, all in a silent protest against his captivity. Any knock on his doors are unanswered. Food left is uneaten. His only companions are the smallest creatures—insect-like and very ugly—that can slither beneath the doors.

They’re fascinated by Sehun, it seems. They’re drawn to the colors of this clothing, things unseen in the Underworld.

Although they’re ugly, which Sehun cannot fault them for, he can’t deny them whatever kindness he can offer. They sleep on his pillows in his place and contort themselves for his amusement.

When he finally has enough, maybe a little mad with exhaustion and hunger, he makes his way to the throne room, guided by a many-legged thing that’s suddenly plucked from the ground by a bird.

Sehun is too exhausted to feel. His flesh, like his clothes, have dulled. The crown his mother made him, once soft and yellow, is dry and brown, petals dropping as he moves.

The throne room is open and grand, flooring and walls so shiny they reflect like mirrors and seem to stretch into infinity. There are more torches, wide and squat like small bonfires at every corner. Directly across from the doors is the throne on a platform with shallow steps leading to it. Jongdae sits rigidly, posed like a statue with his bident held tight in his fist. The blue light seems to hollow his cheeks and eyes more, making him look sickly while highlighting the facets of his crown like dancing flames. He’s discussing something with a distraught woman, shaking his head even as she sobs.

Sehun realizes there is a large audience, talking at once to one another and over one another, impatient for their turn with the king. Most of them are dead, but some are alive and recognize Sehun as the captured lover.

Jongdae sends the woman away, escorted by hopping demons, and looks over the heads of his guests. He finds Sehun immediately and stands, calling his name.

The hall is quiet. Everyone turns to look, so Sehun holds his head high and walks through them with all the dignity of a starving son of a goddess.

The king offers a hand, which Sehun takes out of politeness. It feels like the hand of a corpse. Jongdae steps aside and guides Sehun to sit on his throne, sending a hushed chatter throughout the crowd.

“Why are you here, Sehun?”

“You know why.” He can’t say it among so many. No one looks eager to help him, anyway, faces too sad, disinterested, or spiteful.

Jongdae turns around, and a demon scurries from the shadows of the throne. “Leave us,” he commands. The demon bows repeatedly and weaves among the crowd, biting and pushing until the hall is empty.

The silence between them is so absolute Sehun hears the crackle of the fire at the far end of the hall. It spits and simmers, filling Sehun with restless static.

Finally, Jongdae speaks. “I want nothing but your happiness.”

“Then how could you take me away from everything that made me happy?” His friends and family, his whole world. He glares at the closed doors, refusing to look at Jongdae.

The king takes a knee, looking for understanding in Sehun’s eyes. “I saw you in the river and felt something I’ve never felt before, a longing that ached. It isn’t a cheerful life, here.” He looks at the ceiling, maybe remembering the sky and stars. “I rarely have the means to leave and have no time for many pleasures. I’d thought—I’d hoped—that if you couldn’t come to love me, that we could be friends.”

“This is not how you befriend anyone. When my mother finds me—”

“I know. There is nothing so strong as a mother’s love, except for her wrath. The world of man is dying, because she is neglecting it to search for you.” Sadness as no one has ever known drives Sehun’s mother to withdraw her life-giving gifts from the world in Sehun’s absence, bringing in a dry, cold climate in which nothing thrives. Gods and mortals beg her to understand their needs; she begs the gods to send a hero to retrieve her only child. “My brother has been trying to reason with her.”

He frowns and reaches for Sehun but doesn’t touch him. “You look pale. Have you not been eating?”

Sehun keeps his chin high even as his stomach grumbles, drawing heat to his cheeks and ears.

Jongdae stands and picks up a spherical thing Sehun had assumed was just more rocky decor, but its shadows shift, revealing a familiar silhouette. The king picks up a knife and cuts away the top and bottom of the fruit, then scores along the ridges. He digs his thumbs into the top to peel the fruit apart, uncaring about the juices and seeds that fall at his feet. Small creatures slither and crawl to catch the sweet remnants. 

Peeling away the main pith, Jongdae offers a section of pomegranate to Sehun. Juice runs down his hand like blood. While the skin was black, the insides are vibrant red.

“Eat, Sehun. You’ll feel better.”

 

 

He doesn’t know that eating the food of the Underworld means he can never go home. As betrayed as he feels, he assures his mother that it wasn’t forced on him. He ate willingly. 

While Sehun cannot return forever, the king of the Underworld isn’t heartless. A compromise allows Sehun to remain above the earth for two thirds of the year, after which he’ll return to the Underworld as its prince and consort to the King of the Dead.

The relief in Jongdae’s eyes and rare smile are enough to stir something like sympathy in Sehun’s heart.

His friends welcome him warmly with tight embraces and apologies for not preventing the king from taking him. Every day, his mother is at his side. There’s an edge to her smiles, lines on her face that Sehun doesn’t remember.

For the first time in his life, he notices a change in the world around him. The days get shorter and cooler; night comes faster.

Too soon, he’s visited by a blue-winged bird with a white chest that tells him his time above ground has ended. 

Before he returns to the Underworld, he marries Jongdae in a large but somber ceremony. 

Then, like a seed, Sehun is deposited underground to wait.

 

 

During the winter months he spends underground, Sehun’s usual pink and green attire is white like snow that blankets the ground for the grass and trees and flowers to sleep under. He contrasts the entirety of the Underworld like the moon against the night. The black walls are all rough and uneven rock, windows punched out to look over the pool of swirling souls or blue flames of the damned. Throughout, from the entrance to the furthest corner, the floors are smooth like polished marble. Even the craggy stalagmites are smooth up to their needle-sharp tips.

Sehun spends his first days wandering, seeing how far he can go until there’s simply nowhere else. It’s endless, however, and he realizes that when the white thread he’d tied to a stalagmite makes its third appearance. Some magic prevents anyone who doesn’t know the way from leaving.

Jongdae finds him once he finally gives up. He doesn’t know how the king knows; maybe he can sense the hopelessness and follows that.

The first time, they walk in silence. Jongdae appears like a shade, silent and easily overlooked until looked at directly. He holds out his hand, and Sehun is lifted to his feet with ease. The blackened fingers are like ice. Sehun wonders if they sense any warmth or pressure.

 

 

He discovers that all he has to do is ask, and whatever it is will happen or be provided. There are no conditions or favors or lies.

They’re eating a light meal of fruits and cheese when Sehun asks, “Where is the entrance to this world?”

Jongdae looks at him, impossibly dark eyes unreadable. “I will show you,” he says. “Later. Finish eating.”

The food of the Underworld is more delicious than anything Sehun has eaten at home. He’s seen the gardens, tended to by demons. It’s a garden full of temptations, and Sehun walks among the fragrant blossoms and shiny fruits when he’s particularly homesick. Although the plants are entirely black, their products are the most colorful invitations.

He never takes anything and never has to. The king has the uncanny knowledge of Sehun’s desires before he even acknowledges them himself. It’s the ability of a god or maybe just a man in love.

 

 

Loneliness is a near constant companion in the Underworld. Although shy, Sehun enjoys company, and he’s seeking his husband when he hears his voice coming from his throne room. The doors are barely open, and he’s not alone. Sehun sees a small demon, one of the gardeners, at his feet, hands clasped and pleading gibberish.

At no other time has Sehun seen Jongdae look so cruel and heartless as when the demon whips itself until it can’t stand.

“Enough,” Jongdae says softly, and the demon’s arms fall to its sides.

He stumbles back when the doors open, and the king follows the demon into the hall. Sehun tries to help the demon stay on its feet, but his fingers burn at their touch, making him pull back sharply. Jongdae’s black eyes fall on Sehun, and although his expression remains, his eyes soften. “Oh, Sehun...” he says, “if I’d known you were here…” His hands hold Sehun’s face, and the tears he hadn’t noticed turn to ice against Jongdae’s fingers. “Come inside—”

“No.” A puddle of inky black blood, remains on the floor, spreading and seeping into the rock.

“Of course. Let’s leave this place.” He closes the great doors and puts an arm behind Sehun’s waist, guiding him away from the torturous room.

They go outside, passed the garden and ghostly pale flowers with their bumbling black pollinators, to the freshwater river that runs through the Underworld. Its twin is above ground, showing the worlds mirror images of one another. It’s the reason Jongdae ever knew of him, watching him while he’d played in the water with his friends.

Jongdae sits and takes Sehun’s hand, gently but firmly pulling him down beside him. The coldness of his flesh is soothing to the blisters on Sehun’s fingers.

He has always been sensitive. Since birth, according to his mother. He lies down with his head on Jongdae’s lap, seeking whatever comfort he can and watching the subtle waves of the water as it flows. On the opposite bank, a single tall, palm-like tree grows. Its trunk is smooth and gray, standing above the water on a tangle of exposed roots. The leaves are longer than Sehun is tall. It will never bear flowers or nuts. Looking at it recalls an ugly feeling in Sehun’s chest.

“I don’t like this place,” he confesses softly.

Jongdae takes his time to answer, combing his fingers through Sehun’s hair. “It’s home.”

 

 

Jongdae is an honest ruler and always keeps his word. He never lies or pretends. He’s the most sincere person Sehun has ever met. There is no pretext or subtext or sly suggestions. No sweet words just to placate Sehun.

The entrance to the Underworld looks much like the rest—cavernous and dark, lit with torches of heatless blue flames. Gates reach from the ceiling to the floor, stalagmites and stalactites touching so the beginning of one is the end of another. There are sizeable gaps between them, and Sehun wonders what good gates are that can let bodies in and out so easily.

Although, he reasons, no one would willingly come to the Underworld.

But plenty would want to escape.

Even he could fit.

A low growl seems to shake the earth beneath his feet, and the light catches a pair of eyes. They blink and move fast, shifting left and right and rising like a snake readying to strike.

Sehun falls back into Jongdae in fear as he’s approached by a three-headed wildcat, larger than a lion. The ears are tall and tufted; thick fur silences the steps of its massive paws. One head sniffs his front, another his back, and the third his hair and face. Carefully, he raises his hands to the chin of the third, running his fingers through the soft hair and wiry whiskers.

The throat vibrates with an intense rumble, and Sehun smiles.

“This is Tan,” Jongdae informs, rubbing the nose of one of the heads. “A gift from my brother, Minseok.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She’s a strong huntress,” Jongdae praises. “No one can get passed her. When not napping or performing her guard duties, she enjoys playing hide-and-seek with the demons.”

“She doesn’t hurt them, does she?”

“Of course not.” Tan’s heads all nuzzle Sehun as he scratches her ears. “Their deaths are swift and painless.”

Everything seems dark and cruel, even such a sweet creature like Tan, who was born and raised among the clouds. Sehun learns that Jongdae is almost as despondent as he is away from the sun and sky. He and his brothers chose lots, and the oldest took to the sky while the middle brother went into the sea, leaving Jongdae to retreat underground. 

“Are you lonely?” His job is to keep souls from leaving. Keeping everyone contained and maintain the precarious balance of the world. Someone has to do it, and Sehun wishes it was someone else.

Jongdae kisses the back of his hand. “Not anymore.”

 

 

Bedrooms remain separate without Sehun demanding it. Although blue fire lines the walls, there is no heat. Demons will sleep in the hearth, and their red and yellow flames thaw Sehun’s bones and melt his heart.

Who could be cheerful in such a place? The king is doing his duty and due diligence, never complaining for his own comfort. Sehun can’t begrudge him desired company.

A messenger leaves a letter for Jongdae, announcing the near closure of their time together. Recumbent beside him, Sehun reads the letter with Jongdae and says nothing when it burns to ash and is swept away.

Sehun rolls onto his belly, side of his face pressed against Jongdae’s chest. He stills, holding his breath, and Jongdae touches his shoulder. “What is it?”

“I feel your heartbeat.” 

“Is that strange?”

“When I met you, I thought you couldn’t have a heart.”

“It only beats so strongly because of you.” A demon shifts and yawns in the firepit, curling its tail around itself. “I saw new shoots outside,” Jongdae comments softly. He hooks Sehun’s bangs with a finger and pulls them aside, smoothing cool hands over his brow and temples. “The wind is changing, too. It’s almost time for you to go home.”

Sehun catches his hand, pulling it gently to kiss Jongdae’s palm. “Your home is with me. Mine is with you.

“Will you miss me?”

The king cradles Sehun’s chin and jaw, wanting to memorize the strong lines and soft slopes of his cheeks. “Do you have so little faith in me?” Jongdae kisses him, and he feels warmth briefly before Sehun’s lips turn cold. “I only look forward to the world going to sleep, so my dream can return to me."

 

 

A magpie slips through the gates while Tan is dozing, finding its way instinctively to Sehun and alighting on his plate while he and Jongdae eat breakfast. Its dark body, purple-blue iridescent flight feathers and white wings give it a look that solely fits neither the Underworld nor the surface. It watches Sehun curiously, as though wondering why he’s not already making his way home.

Chopsticks click as they’re set down, and Jongdae holds out a hand. The magpie considers, head tilting back and forth, but the perch is tempting. It lands with a ruffle of feathers and collapses. Its spirit stands apart from its body, and it trills before flying through a window to the garden, landing on a branch to sing.

Jongdae ignites the little corpse in flames until nothing is left. He sits back in his chair and sighs, looking more tired than Sehun has ever seen him.

Sehun leaves his chair to go to his side, sliding an arm around his shoulders. “I’m not gone, yet.” He bends to hug him, tucking his face beside Jongdae’s neck. There’s always a certain smell that clings to his skin, almost sickeningly sweet. It makes Sehun dizzy. “Someday, I’ll never leave again.” Only his mother is immortal.

“They’re waiting for you. They’ve waited long enough.” Jongdae pats his hand and stands. Sehun lets his arms fall from his shoulders and wonders when he stopped thinking about escaping and breaking their marriage.

There’s nothing to pack, having two residences. Jongdae waits at the gates with Tan and saddled horses. The horses are skeletal, all muscle and bone. They snort and stomp; Tan grumbles but nudges Sehun’s arm.

The ride to the surface is silent, except for the horses’ surefooted hooves on rock. They’re on a shallow but steady incline, winding gently.

Blue torchlight is left behind at some point. Sehun doesn’t pay attention. He watches Jongdae beside him or the horse’s neck.

Ahead, bright white light slashes through the cave, leaving a gaping hole that grows wider as they approach, dirt and dry grass falling from the top. A warm breeze whispers welcome to Sehun. He dismounts and hands Jongdae the reins, letting his fingers linger a moment.

Excited voices follow the breeze, eager for another rebirth and return of new life. Sehun can pick out his mother’s voice. Jongdae can, as well, sitting tall in his saddle and watching the backlit crowd outside grow in number.

Sehun touches his knee and sees himself in the king’s eyes. They have memories to tide them over until meeting again. Jongdae leans down, and Sehun meets him for a kiss they’re sure his mother sees.

“Goodbye, my love.”

 

 

Away from the Underworld, Sehun doesn’t experience the same everyday joy he used to. He feels aged, far from the child he’d been when he first met Jongdae.

Sehun sees Jongdae in spring, even so far apart from him. Every flower, fruit, and creature has a life span that ends with him. The warmth of the sun on his flesh reminds him of the king’s undivided attention and desire. He feels the king’s icy fingers on the autumn wind that claws his clothing.

Time passes slower than he remembers, dragging its feet and leisurely changing leaves and growing fields without pity or compassion for Sehun’s heartache.

He starts to feel strange, among mortals and gods. Offerings mean little, although he accepts them graciously. The gossip among his friends isn’t as engaging as it once was, and whenever his husband is mentioned, he feels a pressure around his heart, as though a snake has coiled around it.

Since his marriage, more people have acknowledged the King of the Underworld. The gods all know Jongdae. They have little to say when Sehun asks. He’s an outcast. Easily forgotten, being underground and out of sight. Invitations to their parties go unanswered or are rejected, because the king is so occupied with monitoring the arrival of souls.

He sends gifts, however. Blackened fruit fascinates and disgust his merry friends.Their offerings of bright foods taste like ash to Sehun. Flowers that are translucent in the light and sweetly pungent, attracting many bees and butterflies that attempt to bumble along to another blossom just to fall to the ground, dead. Their souls are Sehun’s gift, buzzing to cling like bats to Jongdae’s robes and whisper messages of love and longing.

 

 

Habit guides his daily activities. Not even his mother’s sound counsel about his duties and responsibilities to the mortal realm can bring his mind wholly from his husband, who must be lonelier than ever. There’s no one to hold him through the nightmares that steal the breath from his lungs and voice from his throat as Jongdae withers to a despondent husk. He misses the cold kisses on his face, neck, and shoulders, the calm murmurs of promise and solace.

If he knew how, he’d withdraw his gifts like his mother had, when he first disappeared. The panic among men and gods about the extinction of mortals is the reason he was allowed to return.

Sehun doesn’t have the same compassion as his mother. Humanity can die and occupy the Underworld, and Sehun would die with them to be with Jongdae forever. He wouldn’t have to move back and forth between worlds and realms.

Shame clutches his heart. He’s grateful to his mother for meeting his mortal father and bearing him, so he could know Jongdae’s love.

Impatient but proud, Sehun waits for the passage of seasons and the day a dark chariot thunders across the earth to spirit him home.

**Author's Note:**

> ❝Lost in Hell,-Persephone,  
> Take her head upon your knee;  
> Say to her, "My dear, my dear,  
> It is not so dreadful here.❞  
> ― Edna St. Vincent Millay, Collected Poems
> 
> So, when I claimed this prompt, I had a general knowledge of the Hades/Persephone story. He saw her, had to have her, kidnapped her, took her, and they fell in love. Little bit of Stolkholm Syndrome goin' on. What I _wasn't_ aware of was just how bad their relationship was. It stewed with jealousy. "You _will_ be faithful, **or else**." The setting of the Underworld here is similar to the animated Disney rendition but more cavelike. There was a river there, though, and from this river was a naiad who tried to hit on Hades (or vice versa; there's never one version of a myth or legend). Persephone didn’t like that, and either she or her mother turned her into a plant. That’s where mint came from. Minthe. In my version here, that plant is instead a nut tree, Karuka. There’s a variety of this tree called Kai. (☞・∀-)☞ She acted out like this twice, although there are variations. With Hades, there was a king who showed up in the Underworld with his buddy like, "Yeah, I want your wife, so I'm going to take her and marry her." Understandably, Hades didn't like that, so he invited them to sit on the Chair of Forgetfulness, where they remained until Heracles rescued them. (What's weird is Persephone and Aphrodite shared Adonis perfectly okay... Maybe Hades liked him, too. :/a Or he figured his big brother was the one who told them to share, so who's he to say otherwise.)
> 
> Lots of obsession and questionable choices.
> 
> But such was the way of ancient myth.


End file.
